This is the website of the Hunebed Center Museum at Great Borger.

Maendy Camp comes into view pretty soon once the path levels out. It makes use of a natural knoll, with the ground dropping away on north and south sides. The Clydach Forest dominates the hills across the valley to the south. Rounding the south-eastern corner of the fort, the rubble construction of the bank is exposed. The interior on the east side is buried under a liberal growth of bracken, making is pointless to try and investigate from this direction. However, the bracken thins out on the west side and it's easier to gain access here. A low, grass-covered bank cuts across the middle of the site. This is the "inner" rampart, which forms the boundary of a smaller enclosure occupying the northeast part of the camp. The outer rampart is more obviously of rubble construction, particularly apparent along the northern section.

In the middle of the open interior, positioned outside and to the southwest of the inner enclosure, are the remains of a badly damaged cairn. A low mound with a few protruding stones can be discerned, around a central pit resulting from excavation. A bronze dagger and some flints were found when the cairn was originally excavated, but there's little to see now.

I rejoin the bridleway and continue southwest. The ground climbs steadily now, then sharply, before levelling again to a crest just above the 450m mark. At the edge of this little plateau, the OS marks a further cairn. The views to the east over the Rhondda Valley and back to Maendy Camp have now opened up, and to the north the tops of the central Beacons, Corn Du, Pen y Fan and Cribyn are now visible. It takes me a while to find the cairn, supposedly a ring cairn. In the end, all that appears to be left is a pile of stones. There's no obvious mound or ring at all and the pile itself is shapeless. Still, a good place to stop and enjoy the views, before the pull up to the top of the hill.

There are two summit cairns marked on the OS, both within the 535m contour on the very top of the hill where they would have commanded extensive views in all directions. No longer, however. Mynydd Ton ("Wasteland Mountain") is now cloaked in dense conifer forest, and the summit is no longer open to the elements (it is still open to walkers though).

A forestry track takes me along the edge of the forest, before another heads off in a northeasterly direction into the trees. (Note for anyone wishing to come here - this track is not shown on the OS 1:25000, but it follows an old line of fence posts which are marked.) After about 100yds, a green strip of grass has been cleared through the trees on the south of the path. At the end of this strip is the first of the two summit cairns.

A large mound still exists, marked with a small cairn of stones that covers evidence of burning, rusty cans, and so on. Originally a central cist was found, but there's no visible evidence of this now.

I head off along the northeasterly path again. It, and the fence post line, take a sharp turn to the southeast. In theory there is an OS trig point here, another relic of a time before the trees. This trig would point me on the way to the second cairn. Unfortunately, the trees have formed an impenetrable barrier, within which is darkness and no way through. I carry on along the path until it meets another running north-south, hoping to find a way in from that side instead. But it's the same there too. So, I admit defeat. Perhaps at another time of year a way in can be found, or it may be that a way in from the north is possible (I didn't look in that direction).

Back onto forestry paths, this time heading south towards the biggest of today's cairns, Garn Fawr (erm, "Big Cairn"). According to Coflein, the cairn has a diameter of almost 19m. Unfortunately it's completely trashed. An OS trig pillar has been erected on the top, but that's the least of the problems. There are several walkers cairns and one enormous (6ft tall) shelter, all of which have been constructed from material robbed from this once magnificent cairn. Very little remains now to tell you that there even was a cairn here. There is some evidence of original rubble construction at ground level, but little else.

So I carry on along the forestry tracks, to where a footpath leaves the access land and heads SSW to Garn Fawr's companion, Garn Fach (erm, "Small Cairn"). Garn Fach has fared slightly better, but only slightly. It stands at less than 50cm tall, but its overall size is still discernable and the original mound can be seen still. Like most of today's sites, it is topped with a pile of stones. Garn Fawr is easily visible on the skyline to the north, while Swansea Bay can be seen to the south, as the ground slopes away.

I'm pleased to see that the tips and landfill mentioned in previous fieldnotes are closed and are slowly being covered over by vegetation. The route takes a turn for the difficult, as I find myself having to cross a steep cwm (and a rusty barbed wire fence) in order to continue eastwards, but eventually I'm up on the plateau of Mynydd y Gelli ("Mountain of the Grove" or "Wooded Mountain") itself. I know roughly what I'm looking for, from the links posted on TMA and from the Burl description. The sun is now beaming down on beautiful afternoon. And so I dutifully wander backwards and forwards across the plateau. And backwards and forwards. And backwards and forwards…

There are plenty of low clearance cairns in evidence, but I'm not convinced that any of them fit the description of the ring cairn. I spend about an hour wandering across the area and I'm still not convinced. Maybe it's lost in the bracken? I have an idea that it's quite close to the lip of the hillside, but that doesn't help. Eventually I give up. I should mention that a nice easy footpath heads east from the plateau, until you hit the access road for the old tip. Then, it crosses into an area of quarrying and appears to disappear over a cliff. So I waste even more time trying to get back down off the hillside into the town (so close, yet so far). Finally I scramble down through deep vegetation, hoping not to break an ankle in the process. Gah! No idea how to get back up here if I decide to pay a return visit from this direction. I finish up eventually back at Ystrad station, and head back to Cardiff. Rhondda Stonehenge? An over-enthusiastic billing if ever there was one.

[Post-visit note: A closer inspection of Coflein on my return suggests that the ring cairn itself is slightly further west than my wanderings, and nearer the tall chain link fence. The "cairns" marked on the OS map – which was mainly where I was looking – do not include the ring cairn. I would advise anyone going to look for this to take a print of the Coflein map at a large scale, rather than trusting to the 1:25000 OS map alone.]

Once I climb down from the top of Down Tor itself, I'm expecting to see the first of today's sites. After all, it's a very well-preserved circle, together with a 350m long row and a terminal stone standing nearly 3m tall. In fact, there's no sign of it until I head further east. Suddenly I'm over a small crest and practically on top of this megalithic wonder. What a beauty this is! The circle itself is lovely, 12m across and surrounding the remains of a damaged but recognisable central cairn. Another cairn sits a few yards away to the northwest. This really is a terrific site, aided by the splendid isolation I get here today.

And then there's the row. It extends away to the northeast, heading further into Dartmoor's magnificent empty space. Clouds race past, drawn towards a convergence over the horizon. At the southwestern end, next to but separate from the circle, the row terminates in a huge upright monolith, almost 3m tall and very thick - it weighs about three tons. Seen from this end, the row appears pretty much straight (which it is). It leads uphill towards another cairn, as well as a small prehistoric enclosure. By the time I reach the northeastern terminal stone, the row appears to curve away back to the cairn circle. This is actually an optical illusion, caused by the gently sloping contours that the row crosses. This weird "not curve" further enhances what is undoubtedly one of the best sites I've been to. I still struggle rather with Dartmoor chronology and don't really know whether the row post-dates the large-scale clearances carried out during the Bronze Age. It's hard though to imagine creating such a wonderfully designed monument in the middle of trees, where the form could not be easily appreciated.

To the northeast of the row, but not aligned with it, is Narrator Brookhead enclosure. It's oval in plan and there are no obvious structures (such as hut circles) inside it. The outer wall is still thick, but only a single course high.

At the highest point of the hill, the southern end of the ridge, are two large cairns. The northern cairn is an impressive 20m across. A Bronze Age reave heads WSW down the hill directly from it. But the southern cairn, the Eylesbarrow itself, is bigger still. Another of the reservoir catchment markers stands between the two cairns, on a windswept spot that will be the highest point of my walk today. Without hanging around very long, I follow the reave down the hill.

The ground slopes away to the valley of the nascent River Plym. Between my vantage point and there, an incredible array of monuments and animals is laid out. Cows, sheep and horses fill the space, interspersed with very large upright stones dotted here and there. I've found the rows, at any rate.

But the ground above the "ritual" complex is itself packed with archaeology. Settlement enclosures, round houses and cairns vie for position. One of the first cairns I come across (cairn 15) has some unusual upright stones in its mound, which appear to be in-situ. It's right next to a hut circle. As ever, I don't have the knowledge to really understand the phases of what I'm looking at, which came first and whether the living were sharing their space so closely with the dead. One cairn, much bigger than the rest (cairn 18), is a good spot to view the rest of the site below.

From atop the cairn, the layout of the rows becomes clear, together with their proximity to the even larger Giant's Basin cairn. Three large terminal stones are readily visible, as are three cairn circles in a line at the northeast of the rows. A large herd of cows and another of horses are clustered around the tallest of the terminal stones and other cows and sheep are busy grazing across the site. There are no people to be seen and I get the impression of being an intruder into this primal space.

But the sun is shining and I've travelled a long way to come here, so I'm going to carry on intruding for a while longer yet. The NW of the three cairn circles doesn't have a row of its own, although a low outlier some way to the southwest (which I don't try to find in the bracken today) may indicate an intention that it was to have. This cairn is surrounded by a couple of rings of small slabs, suggesting a complex constructional method.

The central cairn circle has a more obvious outer ring of uprights, and is at the northeastern end of one of the three stone rows that form the complex. The centre of the cairn exhibits the usual central doughnut of excavation. A walk along the row ends in the first (and smallest) of the three enormous terminal stones. This one is a tapering slab, 2.3m high, placed edge on to the row and leaning slightly.

I head towards the southwestern row's terminal stone, but a group of bullocks are getting increasingly lairy around it (once they start trying to shag each other, it's time to back away). So instead I cut across to the Giant's Basin cairn. I do get a good look along the southwest row though, worth noting particularly as it's a double row for part of its length. At its northeastern end is another cairn circle. The slabs at this end of the row have fallen and lie prostrate near the cairn. In addition, there is a small cist between the cairn circle and the Giant's Basin cairn – talk about packed with archaeology! Row 2, well-seen from the Giant's Basin, ends in the largest of the three terminal stones. At over 4m tall, this is the tallest standing stone on Dartmoor. Today, four-legged acolytes, cows and horses, surround it. I don't get too close for fear of upsetting a ceremony of sorts. Its row is the shortest of the three and also ends in a cairn circle, another decent mound surrounded by an incomplete ring of slabs.

I'm awestruck by this amazing place. The primal energies of the animals seem to do it justice and once again I'm filled with the sense that I'm a passer-by, a temporary presence in an ageless space. The bullocks have gradually headed along the southwestern row now, so I skirt their proceedings and make for the now-vacated south-west terminal stone. It's a lovely symmetrical, tapering 3m slab, again facing edge-on to the row.

What a place. I finally leave the complex, heading towards Ditsworthy Warren. I hope to come here again, this is a site to treasure.

There's something quite satisfying about squelching across sodden moors in the pouring rain. Once you've accepted you're going to get wet, there's no shelter and no short-cut, a sense of purpose kicks in. So with this feeling, I reach the northern end of Ringmoor Down stone row. After the wonders of Drizzlecombe, the tiny terminal stone is surprising, but it shares with Drizzlecombe Row 1 a partial double section (which may not actually be authentic here). Taking pictures is difficult, as the lens gets wet every time I point the camera anywhere but downwards. Eventually I get up to the cairn circle, by which time the rain has got even heavier. This is actually a great little cairn circle, with decently spaced uprights (one of which looks rather as if it might be upside down). The central cairn is badly reduced. I could imagine spending a lot longer here, if it weren't so wet. Instead I squelch onwards.

The first of the "proper" Dartmoor circles I've visited, Brisworthy is brilliant, even in the 45 degree rain. It's set on a sloping hillside, and the eye is immediately drawn to Legis Tor across the valley to the east. It reminds me of other circles that have intervisible rocky outcrops nearby – Boskednan/Carn Galva; Tregeseal/Carn Kenidjack; Nine Ladies/Robin Hood's Stride. All of these must have been built to sit as part of the bigger natural landscape, it's an unavoidable connection. The stones of the circle are nicely graded too, and around its outside (particularly on the east) I notice that there are quite a number of small quartz stones in the ground, almost as if there was an outer ring. Be interested to know what anyone else makes of that (if anything!).

Our first stop of an already hot day is the cairn at Mount Todden. At first sight, this large barrow could easily be dismissed as a natural boulder outcrop, as the western side of the barrow is exactly that. However, a couple of long slabs, similar to the ones that roof many of the island's chambered tombs, can be seen on the east side and may mark the remains of a cist or chamber.

The ridge is surmounted by a number of chambered tombs, in varying degrees of preservation. There's a heavy covering of bracken over the mounds at this time of year, but the general shape and form can still be seen. We have a poke about on the top of 'A', the most westerly of the three primary tombs that remain. This reveals one in-situ capstone, as well as another slab that presumably formed part of the chamber's roof.

'B' is another large mound, but the chamber is badly ruined with only a couple of uprights to be seen. 'D' on the other hand is great, with a well-preserved kerb and a largely intact chamber covered by a very thick, square slab. This is a beautiful spot, with views across Crow Sound to St Martin's and south to Porth Hellick, also dotted with chambered tombs and our next destination.

The "Great Tomb" is a huge, reconstructed circular passage grave, which includes an unusual blocking-slab separating the roofless passage from the central chamber itself. From here many of the other chambered tombs on the Down can be seen, as can the Deep Point tombs on the headland to the north.

All these tombs are thought to be part of a Bronze Age continuation of a chambered tomb style that begun during the Neolithic, on the mainland in West Penwith. Whether they actually pre- or post-date similar mainland tombs, the Scillonian ones are preserved in much greater numbers, usually in concentrations like this (or at least pairs). All in all, this makes for a hugely rewarding place for the stonehead to visit, particularly when coupled with such lovely surroundings. We confine ourselves to a few of the more obvious tombs ('B', 'C', 'E' and 'G' are all well worth a look) before we head off the Down.

Next up we reach Salakee Down. The tombs here are much harder to see, being covered in deep bracken. I bumble about on top of one, finding a very long capstone still roughly in place, together with a decent kerb. G/F doesn't share my enthusiasm and carries on along the coast path – very wise. What I do get from here is a great view of Giant's Castle, with its concentric lines of ramparts. We head there next.

It's an odd sort of a fort, this. There are several (at least four) low lines of "defence" that cut the rocky headland off from Salakee Down. There are quite closely spaced, not much room between each line. And the interior is a small, exposed space, climbing up to a rocky promontory that has been sculpted by the elements into fantastic shapes. It's hard to believe that this could have been big enough to warrant defending, let alone be possible to live inside. All of which may suggest status rather than practical defensive purpose. Still, I have fun clambering onto the topmost rocks, where a gusty wind does its best to send me back down again.

At the base of the fort, the low mound of another battery can be seen, perhaps evidence that the real need for defence would come a millennium and a half after the Iron Age construct.

The main draw of the hill, apart from the extensive views, is the rather extraordinary chambered tomb and later cairn, which fills the hilltop and despite much subsequent damage (notably caused by the building of a medieval hermitage and then a radar observation post on top of it) still measures almost 20m across. The original Neolithic chambered tomb has been covered by the later, larger Bronze Age cairn, which accounts for most of the stonework still to be seen. The small intact chamber that can be seen is a secondary cist added when the Bronze Age mound was constructed. I manage to squeeze inside and get back out again without damage to the tomb or (more likely) myself. This is a terrific monument even in its damaged condition and definitely worth coming to visit. It provided us with the perfect location for Midsummer lunch and general chilling out.

Past the topograph and to the southwest of the chambered tomb, there is an even rarer (and earlier) early Neolithic long cairn. Not many long cairns exist in Cornwall and I'm pretty sure this is the only one in Penwith. I didn't know it was here the first time we visited, but the new re-print of Cheryl Straffon's excellent A5 size "Ancient Sites In West Penwith" lists it, otherwise I still wouldn't be any the wiser. It would be very easy to miss this, as it looks pretty much like a natural rock outcrop. In truth, it appears that the natural rock and the contour of the hill have been incorporated into a long, low mound. The rocks form the south-eastern end of the mound. There are some stones along the sides of the mound, which may indicate that it once had some kind of retaining kerb.

I'm not hoping for much from Tregiffian Vean chambered tomb, having only seen the black and white photo in Craig Weatherhill's essential "Belerion", in which only the capstone appears above the ploughed surface of the field. In fact, I'm pleasantly surprised, as there is a visible mound and although the capstone is displaced it still rests on upright orthostats. The general shape of the tomb is apparent at any rate. On the downside, the chamber has been blocked with rubble and the top of the tomb has been used to dump what look to be assorted clearance stones. Perhaps not up there with the likes of Brane in terms of condition, but nevertheless a survivor and worthy of the time spent in a visit.

Escalls cairn sits atop the cliffs, with The Brisons visible offshore to the NNW. The coast path here runs along the base of the cliff, so this barrow is not much visited by the casual passerby, unlike Mayon Cliff for example. It is sited next to a granite outcrop and appears almost a natural feature itself, comprised of large slabs of granite which probably didn't come from very far away at all. When excavated by W.C. Borlase, a small cist was found containing an urn, together with flints and shells (shells may be local, but flint probably wasn't). There's no sign of any of that now, just the outer slabs. Worth a visit and a stop because of its lovely location, where the sky meets the sea and the sea washes the shore. I've come over all poetic, so it must be time to head onwards.

The last two barrows of the day bear no resemblance to each other. The well-known Mayon Cliff cairn, which the coast path passes right next to, is rather lovely. It has a retaining kerb of rounded boulders and the remains of a central cist. A huge longstone lies across the mound, presumably dismounted from a position covering the central burial. Lands End (and its tacky tourist park) is visible, as are the Longships with their lighthouse. By contrast, the round barrow to the NE (assuming I did find it) is simply a low mound, covered in heather and almost imperceptible unless you're really looking for it. It has no visible stonework at all but is in the correct place based on the OS map and Craig Weatherhill's "Belerion" description. It is intervisible with the better-preserved cairn.

The bus drops me off at Drift crossroads and I have a not very enjoyable 200yds or so along the verge of the A30 itself. My objective is the pair of stones to the southwest, sometimes called The Sisters, which I've seen from the bus before but never visited. They stand in a cultivated field immediately adjacent to the A30. I'm fortunate with the timing of my visit, as the crop has obviously been recently harvested, leaving the stones clear of obstruction. Their location is on sloping ground, above and to the west of a little valley that eventually reaches the sea at Lamorna Cove, which is coincidentally my final destination for the days walk. This sloping ground allows views across the farmland to the east and round to the southwest, where St Buryan church tower is clearly visible.

These are two impressive stones, both over 2m tall. The southeast stone is the pointier of the two, with a natural crevice running diagonally across its southeast face and providing a home for snails out of the fierce sun. The northwest stone is patched with the yellow lichen that adorns many of the Brecon Beacons' stones. I'm really pleased to have finally visited this excellent pair, despite the less than ideal road-walk to get to them.

This magnificent stone stands over 3m tall, one of the tallest in the peninsula. It's one of those stones that assumes an entirely different character from each angle, being very thin on the southwest/northeast faces and broad and tapering on the others. The views are somewhat restricted by hedges and trees, and apart from Sancreed Beacon it doesn't appear to point to any other obvious prehistoric sites (I'm not sure if the Drift stones would be visible if you removed all the intervening hedges). Great stone though.

Back on the A30, I head WSW along the verge until the turn for Boscawenoon farm appears. Right next to the farm track, the pointy bulk of Bowscawen-Un hedge stone looms. Despite its rather everyday setting, this is a huge stone. Its triangular shape wouldn't necessarily mark it out as an obvious choice for a standing stone, so perhaps it was erected here on a spot close to its natural setting.

Past the farm buildings (where I was once bitten on the bum by a goose, while G/F made her laughing escape), the tracks heads west and becomes more enclosed – not the overgrown state of a few years ago though. Anticipation builds, as it always does when approaching a circle. I wonder whether there will be anyone else there? It's three days to the solstice, when no doubt the circle will be alive with ritual of one sort or another, but I am in luck today and as I reach the wooden gate into the secluded enclosure, I see that it is empty. Fantastic! I've never been here on my own before, and never in such terrific weather. My memories of summer Boscawen are usually of either rain or hordes of weekend pagans, so this is a real treat. Julian's daughter is dead right; the quartz stone is such a draw. You may be interested to know that the central pillar provides just enough shade to escape from the midday sun if you squeeze right up under it. Time passes.

Situated two fields north of the Boscawen path, this tall and shapely stone stands over 2.5m tall, but is easily missed as it is out of site of the path. It does not stand straight, as the natural shape of the stone curves gently. Truthfully, it's rather phallic looking from some angles. Landscape views are even more restricted from here than from the Blind Fiddler, due to the agricultural surroundings that make up the lower areas of West Penwith.

The fourth of the Penwithian circles, Merry Maidens usually leaves me a bit disappointed. Its easy access makes it busy and also takes away some of the atmosphere, for me. There's no moorland walk, no secluded space, just a field next to the road. That said, the circle itself is lovely and it is very pretty. Today, there are cars parked up and a couple dowsing in the circle. I walk around the circle and renew acquaintances with it, but don't linger.

Tregeseal stone circle, or more properly the eastern circle, is the first stop-off today. Almost always deserted on our visits, today is no exception and we can sit undisturbed in the sunshine, breathing in sea air and generally chilling. I mess about in the bracken looking for the remnants of the western circle and g/f lets me get on with it – she has more sense. It's only just gone 11 o'clock and it's already shaping up to be scorcher, so sun-cream is liberally applied. I love this circle. If it wasn't for one other (more of which later) it would be my favourite of all.

We head east off the moor and, on reaching Boslow Stone, swing north along a little track. Still almost hidden, in a triangle of land next to the track is Portheras Common barrow. I have looked for it before but always been defeated, but Chrisbird's photos from earlier in the year have given me fresh heart and sure enough, the barrow has been freed from the mess of undergrowth for the first time in years. This is a terrific little barrow, with a near-complete kerb and a central chamber/cist still boasting its capstone. Already the vegetation is growing back, brambles are trailing the barrow and patches of purple-ish campion sprout around the centre and the lovely Cornish foxgloves are doing their thing nearby as well. But it's great to finally see this barrow, especially to see how well-preserved it is.

Chun Quoit is another of the area's "show sites", but to see it ahead of you in its beautiful setting is still enough to cause a flutter of anticipation. Watch Croft, Penwith's highest point, rises behind and the blues of sea and sky meet over to the north. The Quoit itself needs no introduction, so we'll just sit and have a snack and enjoy the view for a little while.

This time we're heading up to the nearby Chun Castle hillfort, which actually we rarely visit on our trips. Its circular walls are satisfyingly chunky and provide a wonderful 360-degree panorama, including the engine house at Ding Dong mine, which is such a ubiquitous landmark from much of the peninsula. But we don't hang around here for long, as our main reason for heading this way is another site we haven't visited previously.

From the Castle, after a bit of bracken-exploration, we find a vague path heading northeast, which clears a bit as it finds a route between two hedges. Some lumps and bumps appear in the field on the south side of the path, telling us we've found Bosullow Trehyllys, one of the best preserved courtyard house settlements in the area. Much less visited than Chysauster or Carn Euny, this settlement has been dogged by restricted access and impenetrable vegetation, so we've never tried to visit before. But the barbed wire has rusted away and the little gate is open to us, so we go and have a mooch round. Thanks again to Chrisbird for pointing out that the site had been cleared. The vegetation is actually already pretty high again, but we easily found simple round-houses in the south-western field and the impressive courtyard houses in the field next door. We're joined by a fellow enthusiast, who tells me this is his first visit to the site for over a decade.

Boskednan circle, or Nine Maidens, is without doubt my favourite circle of all (and by extension my favourite site of all). It's not a perfect or pristine circle, many of the stones lean alarmingly or have fallen. It's not on a dramatic peak, or surrounded by a fairy ring of trees. Instead it sits on a bare moor, exposed to the elements and sticking its figures up at 'em. We've been here in dreadful weather, rain, mist (never snow though) and it's never less than brilliant. Today, under a cloudless cerulean sky, I think that there can't be a more perfect place to be.

Time passes and we reluctantly drag ourselves away, for the pub beckons but there's still a way to go.

The OS map simply notes "cairns", so I am a little unprepared for the number of cairns that are actually crowding the top of the Beacon. I pass what I take to be one next to the path on the climb uphill, but the better-preserved ones are out of sight until the top is gained. These are similar to the ones I am becoming used to from trips to the Brecon Beacons, proper rubble-constructed summit cairns. They are in pretty good condition, except one that has a mini-shelter built on its top (I learn from TMA when I get home that these cairns were restored after earlier walker-damage).

From the top of the Beacon, views open northeast to the higher Ugborough Beacon, also topped with assorted barrows, and north to Butterdon Hill, which is the site of my first Burl-guided sites of the day. The route to Butterdon is marked by a very handy row of post-medieval boundary stones, the first of which start in the midst of the Western Beacon cairns. At these southern reaches of the moors, there are a few folks about and although the sky is overcast, it doesn't look like it will rain. Nevertheless, this is an expansive landscape and it's reassuring to have a helpful navigation aid as I head downhill and northwards in the company of these markers.

As the ground starts to rise again towards Butterdon, I pass a taller boundary stone, marked on the OS as "Longstone", while the trig point on the hill ahead is another visual prompt. The first Butterdon cairn is already looking like a monster, silhouetted on the skyline. When I reach it, I find a small triangular stone in front of it, but can't work out if it "belongs" to anything else – perhaps it's part of the boundary line, but it looks to be of a different character and I make out (I think) a low semi-circular bank that appears to incorporate the stone. Another, even bigger, cairn marks the northern end of the summit. This is a huge cairn, 30 metres across and still 4 metres high. From here there are excellent views all around, with every hill apparently topped by more cairns.

But the main draw for me is a cairn circle, which marks the southern terminal of the second-longest stone row on Dartmoor. It takes me a while to find the circle, even in low grass. Burl mentions that one of the stones is upright, but in fact all are fallen (although a couple are still – just about – leaning). There is the merest hint of the cairn mound in the centre and the stones are quite nice shapes, several tapering at what I assume was the top when they were originally erected.

Anyway, I have found my first Dartmoor cairn circle and from here I can find the start of my first row. It heads roughly north, consisting of small (a foot or so tall) stones and crosses over a mile of moorland to a terminus on Piles Hill. On its route it passes the sandcastle-esque Butterdon Hill (north) cairn, which has gained its unusual look by excavation followed by a covering of turf. The direction of the row changes slightly north of this cairn, possibly suggesting that it was erected in more than one phase.

As the row starts to head up towards Piles Hill a taller and more modern boundary marker creeps in amongst the lower stones of the row. Further north Sharp Tor and Three Barrows are now in view, more hills topped with bronze age cairns. As the row approaches Hobajons Cross it still consists of very low stones, and the cross itself is merely a taller upright that has been christianised by the incision of a small cross near its top. It is possible that this stone was once the terminus of the row (see Jeremy Butler's "Dartmoor Atlas of Antiquities"). From here most of the stones are missing as the line of the row climbs Piles Hill to its leaning terminal stone (shown as "recumbent" on the OS).

When I approach the Longstone, a wild pony is having an enjoyable backside-scratch up against it. It think my arrival must have been a disappointment! This re-erected stone is over 2 metres high and is a big old lump, standing next to a much more modern boundary marker. From here there are extensive views across the moors.

There are two decent cairns on Piles Hill and one less certain one. The southern cairn is an unusual bell cairn, with a definite raised perimeter of approximately 30m diameter surrounding it. The central mound is very low however and is exceeded by that of the smaller northern cairn. The less-certain cairn lies a few metres further to the north-east and is a low green mound with no visible structural stones. Sharp Tor cairn, with typical walker-excrescence, is an obvious monument on the skyline to the NNW from here.

The cairn is large but ruinous, having been heavily dug into. It lies slightly to the west and uphill from the row, from where it commands good views over the Erme Valley and southwards towards the Dancers.

I've joined the row less than a quarter of the way along its length from its southern terminus – it continues much further north, all the way up to Green Hill, making it the longest row on Dartmoor by some way. The stones of the row are minuscule to say the least, but there are a few notable individuals, such as a weirdly eroded one that stands more than twice as high as its neighbours, and a lovely row of three differently marked quartz stones next to a small brook that the row crosses. The stones get gradually bigger as they head south, where they disappear over the brow of the hill. By this point I am buzzing with anticipation as I have passed the furthest point out of my walk and am nearly at my main objective, tantalisingly close just over the ridge.

And here it is! The uprights of the cairn circle come into view – empty, miles from anywhere, this is a real treat of a circle. Some of the stones lean alarmingly, the ground is wet and muddy around the stones, but I'm grinning from ear to ear. Without doubt worth the effort of the long walk, the circle is a gem that I doubt has many visitors, except the cows that graze a little way off and pay me no attention at all. Coming to places like this makes the heart sing, makes me feel glad to be alive and all the transitory worries of life seem so far behind. After a good while spent circling the site, then sitting in the ring (devoid of much sign of a cairn, by the way) I am reluctantly reminded of the long walk back to Ivybridge and the further delights still to be had on the way and head off south. The stones hang crooked on the skyline behind me for a moment, before disappearing back into their timeless solitude. I hope to come back here again one day, for this is a wonderful circle.

After another of the Blatchford Bottom settlements, this one with a suspicious bullock keeping a wary eye on me, I start to climb again, this time up to Stalldown. As I reach the crest, the tips of the northernmost upright stones of the row come into view. This is the tallest of Dartmoor's stone rows and the four uprights at the northern end are the tallest stones in the row. They are all about 2-2.5 metres tall and very shapely, leaning in slightly different directions, which makes for a very photogenic site. There are a couple more large stones lying fallen to the north, which may well have been part of the row – the northernmost is a large slab. What a lovely setting of stones this is, who could ask for more?

Following the row roughly south as it heads off the top of the hill, the stones become markedly smaller after those first few, and there is the additional treat of a small cairn- or kerb-circle adjacent to the row. Towards the south end of the row is a recumbent slab, which would have been much taller than its neighbours if erected and the final upright is a rounded, boulderish stone – it may be that the row continued beyond this point, but no uprights remain. Plymouth Sound emerges from the gloom to the southwest to show I'm heading in the right direction.

As I reach the bottom of the hill, I'm into the best-preserved settlement of the day, a selection of variously sized roundhouses and larger enclosures. But I don't stop for long as there's still one more hill to climb and a stone row to follow.

The final row of the day climbs Burford Down, towards a visible terminal cairn circle at the high point of the hill. This last site pulls my tired legs onwards. As the row climbs the hill, I turn around for a last look towards Stalldown behind, what a wonderful landscape this is.

The terminal cairn-circle isn't a match for the Dancers. There is a hollowed mound in its centre and many of the stones are missing or fallen, but this is still a grand enough way to finish the row.

I start at the Cove. Even by Avebury standards these stones are gigantic. I am drawn to these stones more than any others here and I will return twice more during the course of the visit today. It takes until the third time before I actually touch the stones, perhaps it needed building up to! As with the Cove at Stanton Drew, its function is not clear but these two megaliths exert great power.

The rain is getting heavier (possibly becoming a theme for this week's visits?) and the long grass is now very wet. I tramp through it to see the remaining stones of the largely vanished central circle/horseshoe, which seem rather lost and unsure of themselves. Still, the larger stones retain a gnarly grandeur in the misty drizzle. To the NE of the Cove, in the middle of the NE quadrant a single hefty stone is the northernmost survivor of this largely lost setting. From here I head to the eastern entrance of the henge itself. Near the entrance, there is a semi-fallen slab (Stone 73) – presumably this square-ish stone marked the entrance in the same way that the Swindon Stone marks the north. It has some interesting weathering, circular depressions eroded by the rainfall of centuries suggesting that it has been fallen for a good long time.

To the north a solitary stone remains of the eastern arc of the great outer circle here. It occurs to me that, Cove excepted, this quadrant is rather less 'busy' than the other three, with by far the fewest remaining stones. This makes for a great feeling of space and peace that is perhaps not so evident elsewhere inside the henge. I climb the enormous bank itself to take me round to the northern entrance of the henge. The comparative lack of stones draws the eye easily to the earthwork. Despite being more than two thirds filled in, the ditch is still an incredible testament to the man-hours involved in its construction.

A plump pigeon sits on top of the final, northernmost stone of the NE quadrant and a dog walker crosses the open space below me. Between them these are the only living creatures I've seen in the circle since arriving. But the northern entrance heralds a return to the 21st century, as the traffic roars freely into the henge with scant regard for wayward stoneheads out in the rain. I stop again at the Cove, in awe of these wonderful stones, before crossing the road and then I'm up to the enormous diamond of the Swindon Stone. The NW quadrant is an odd mixture of "normal" sarsens, concrete pillars and Picasso-esque sculpture in the form of smashed stones that have been reconstituted. The rain turns much heavier and attempts at photos become futile, so I scurry off to the church porch for shelter (lovely Romanesque door by the way).

Rain reducing, I head to the SW quadrant, and after another weird piece of sarsen sculpture I'm into a much more complete section of the outer circle, including the notorious "Barber Stone". Across the road the SE quadrant boasts a complex arrangement of stones, making it difficult at first to work out what I'm looking at. The huge stones 1 and 98 mark the southern entrance (and another risky road-crossing). Inside the quadrant, some impressive stones remain of the southern circle and then there are Z Stones, the ring stone and a whole lot more concrete pillars. The slightly dryer spell is marked by the emergence of a Spanish family under a vast brolly, braving the weather for some photos amongst the sheep.

And here I leave the henge, crossing the road to the Bison Stone at the northern end of West Kennett Avenue, which then marches over the lower slopes of Waden Hill. This is another fantastic monument, even in its slightly incomplete state. Each stone is full of character and in another place would be worthy of a visit in its own right (oh for a few of these paired up and heading up Leckhampton Hill!). Stone 35a is a particular draw, shark-like and angular. 37b reminds me of a lion and, with its pair, marks the southern end of the restored section.

As I reach the end, the treat of the day – a (roe?) deer runs straight down the Waden Hill path, no more than 100m ahead of me. It reaches the roadside fence, thinks better of it and heads back up the hill at a trot, finally silhouetted on the brow before disappearing. I follow its path and am rewarded soon enough with the wonder that is Silbury, below me and under a heavy sky foreshadowing another downpour later. But it's fine now and the summer vegetation along the Kennet path is scrubbed clean and shiny, with droplets hanging from every leaf.

Another road crossing and I'm heading for the Longstones Cove. My previous December visit found them in a glittering frost-scape, now they sit in yellow summer flowers under an ominous sky (it's getting closer). I don't go up to the stones, which are fenced off and I'm not sure how welcome visitors are, so instead I head off to Longstones long barrow. This is a huge mound, the trees that used to crown it now gone. Another impressive (round) barrow is visible at nearby Penning Barn, but today is about the stones and I can't get particularly excited about either of these barrows. Back to Adam and Eve via the muddy byway that heads up Windmill Hill and back into Avebury, pausing to note the intriguing sarsen wall around the front garden of Swan Cottage. I wonder where those stones came from, eh?

Stanton Moor North, a well-preserved embanked circle (or is it a ring-cairn?) is northernmost and first stop-off. Right near the northern boundary of the Moor, in the trees to the left of the main north-south path, it's easy enough to find if you know it's there, but easily missed if you don't. I've only been here once before, in Spring 2002, and I half-expected this to be completely overgrown. It isn't, and the bank is clearly visible. There are a couple of small (a foot tall or so) uprights protruding and the entrance gap at the NE is easy enough to see. It is however very difficult to get a decent photograph, as there are trees growing on the circle as well as closely surrounding it. I half-heartedly try climbing a tree, but this isn't really my thing and I'll probably end up stuck, so enough of that! It's a nice spot here, but I'm eager to press on, so I head back to the path and on to the most famous of Stanton Moor's many sites, Nine Ladies.

It's been dug, it's been camped on, it's had fires lit in its centre, but Nine Ladies remains a wonderful, must-visit site. Situated in a perfect fairy clearing amongst silver birch trees, it has a lovely atmosphere. I arrive to find no-one there, amazingly. Apart from one sheep, who steadfastly refuses to move from the circle and appears in all the pictures I take. Well, she was here first after all. It's funny the things you notice on a repeat visit. I notice the embanked nature of the circle, as well as the fact it's actually on quite a slope. To be fair, I've usually been here in either thick mist or heavy rain (while an archaeological dig was underway), neither of which do much to aid a proper consideration of the place. The King's Stone outlier seems to be in a sorrier state that I remember, not only graffiti'd but it has had a chunk knocked off along the top edge, exposing the redder stone under the weathering. I stay for a while, until a family arrive and the children have their pictures taken in the circle (hopefully the start of their own stone-appreciation?). I head east, noticing what look like some small cairns in an area that's been cleared of vegetation.

The next major site is Stanton Moor Central, a wide (c.20m) circular enclosure surrounded by a well-preserved (restored) bank, with an entrance at the south and a marker stone numbered 56, a reference to the numbering system used by Heathcote who dug and meddled on the Moor in the 1930s. This site is easy enough to find but is also virtually impossible to photograph owing to a thick covering of heather (where's Postie with his step-ladders when you need him?).

Returning to the path, Stanton Moor South is just off to the left (east side of the path). Another well-heathered circle, the bank can nevertheless be easily made out, with one upright on the inner side – not sure if it's actually in situ though as it seems to lean against the bank.

The Cork Stone, unmistakeable and impressive, soon comes into view with its inevitable attendant sheep. Behind it an enormous bush of purple flowers is in full bloom (must learn some plant names). I am reminded of the shots Faerygirl recently posted of the stone in a bleached-out snowy landscape, very different from today. But the jelly-baby shape is the same. Circling round to the NW of the stone I am struck by its P-shaped resemblance to one of the slabs at Stanton Drew Cove.

From here the path heads west to the minor road that takes quarry traffic along the edge of the Moor and more importantly gives access to the Andle Stone in the field opposite. This enormous natural outcrop is surrounded by a swathe of the same purple flowers (really must find out what they're called) and is a lovely summery spectacle, except that the clouds are closing in and the rain is just starting to fall. I don't climb the Stone as I picture myself getting up but then being stuck on the top! Instead I cross the field southwest to the little wood that contains one of my favourite sites of all – Doll Tor.

Into the trees as a gentle rain starts to fall, I remember why I liked Doll Tor so much the first time I came. I have the place to myself, a little secluded corner where everything is green (including the stones of the circle). This site may have been heavily restored and a couple of the stones bear the scars of hideous treatment (they've been shattered then stuck back together with little regard for cosmetic surgery), but it remains a winning combination of peace and seclusion coupled with a delightful stone circle. There is a fair bit of tat hanging from some of the trees (I leave the ribbons but feel compelled to get rid of the horribly rusty "pagan" key fob) but it doesn't spoil my enjoyment. I sit for about 40 minutes and no-one else comes near. But eventually the bus timetable starts its inexorable call and I must get on to my next site.

The solitary stone in the wall is easy enough to see, but the walk to it involves some pretty wet trousers as the long grass is now soaking wet. Across to the circle itself, I'm now having to wipe the lens between shots, which suggests the weather isn't improving! But this is what I've come for, these lovely stones, standing tall and impassive against the backdrop of the Stride. No cows today, just me and the rain. Each stone is markedly different from its fellows and most bear some kind of cup marks – natural? Old? Recent? I don't know!